


Negative Space

by foxiea



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Complicated Relationships, F/M, Miscommunication, Post-Canon, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-28 21:37:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17190773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxiea/pseuds/foxiea
Summary: It's been five years since the Kishin Asura was defeated. Maka has busied herself travelling the world in the name of peace, taking care not to be alone with Soul on the rare occasions she visits home. Soul remains in their apartment in Death City, wondering how things got so complicated between them.Originally written for the Five Years Later SoulMaka Zine.





	Negative Space

Soul’s finger presses gingerly against the piano key, and he listens as the sharp note rings hauntingly loud against the silent backdrop of the house. It’s been quiet since Maka left again all those months ago, fresh-faced and excited for her next adventure. The note fades, and Soul presses the key again, less gently this time.

It’s been almost five years since they defeated Asura. Five years and Maka has spent most of it away from Death City; travelling to various parts of Africa, Asia, and Europe to oversee the peace process. She never stays home for long, and when she arrives back it’s with bags beneath her eyes and weariness weighing down her shoulders.

There are visitors, of course. Black Star and Tsubaki seem to know when Maka is coming home almost before Soul does. She’ll hardly have stepped inside before the two of them are at the door themselves, Black Star regaling her with tales of his latest exploits and achievements while Tsubaki sips her tea with a polite smile. They stay until Maka’s eyes are drooping and she can hardly keep her yawns at bay, and when they’ve left and it’s just Maka and Soul alone, Maka excuses herself to bed and sleeps late into the morning.

Even when she’s here, it feels like she isn’t. She spends long stretches of time in her room, and makes excuses about needing to run some errands in the city when it looks like they might have the opportunity to spend some time together. She invites Spirit over for dinner, makes arrangements with Marie and Stein for lunch, even convinces Kid himself to show up for a late breakfast one morning - though Soul suspects the twins did most of the work there.

It feels, Soul thinks, like she’s avoiding being alone with him. Once, when their hands brushed as they passed in the hallway, Maka flinched back from his touch. Soul remembers that moment keenly, the momentary warmth of her skin against his for the first time in years. He misses her touch; how steadily she held him no matter how fast her heart was beating, no matter the horrors they faced. Maka was a familiar, reassuring constant, until she wasn’t anymore.

Soul’s fingers glance over the piano keys, light enough not to make a sound. He played for her before she first left, all those years ago. It was late, the celebration of their newfound peace having stretched long into the night. They should have gone to sleep when they arrived home, but Maka’s eyes settled on the piano and she asked him, in a voice unusually soft and vulnerable, to play a song, just for her.

It never even crossed his mind to deny her request. She watched him play with an expression that might have been thoughtful were it not marred by tiredness. Her foot tapped along to the rhythm shyly, and she almost protested when Soul’s fingers hesitated over the piano keys before he stood and offered her his hand. Maka took it without hesitating, and they slipped into a lazy slow dance with effortless ease.

They didn’t need music; they swayed to a rhythm of their own, perfectly harmonious. Resonant. Maka’s head was resting against his chest, with Soul’s hand curled around the small of her back, until a misstep sent them stumbling. The back of his knees buckled against the couch, and he fell back against it, Maka pulled along with him. They erupted into giggles, just laying there against each other, bathed in the light of the full moon from the window.

“Soul,” Maka said eventually, and when he turned to look at her, he found that she was suddenly kissing him. Her lips were soft, the kiss tender and chaste. She smelled of fruit and honey. There was a faint flush spread across her cheeks, and her eyes were closed. Soul’s lips parted involuntarily in his surprise, and Maka pulled back, gazing up at him with a soft smile.

“M-Maka,” Soul stuttered, trying to blink away the haze of tiredness to understand what had just happened. Too slow, he watched as her face fell and she pulled further away from him.

“Sorry, I’m tired. I don’t know what I was doing,” she spoke quickly, far too quickly for Soul to catch up, and by the time the gravity of the situation really hit him she’d already disappeared behind the door to her room.

“Maka?” He tried, rapping his knuckles gently against the wood, but the only reply was a muffled sob, and Soul thought it best to leave her alone until the morning. They could clear everything up then, air out any misunderstandings.

But Maka had been gone in the morning, and most of the afternoon along with it. When she finally arrived back late that evening, it was with a carefully distant demeanour and the announcement that she was going away. Soul tried getting her to talk, but she insisted that she needed to pack her bags and rest before she left early the next morning.

Almost five years later, and she’s still making excuses. Almost five years later, and Soul still doesn’t know what the kiss meant to her, if it’s something she regrets. Almost five years later, and he hasn’t been able to gather the courage to take her aside and confront her about it, excuses be damned.

Almost five years later, and he’s spent most of them wishing he’d just kissed her back.

Soul’s finger finds the A minor key. The first note of the melody he played that night. He presses it down tentatively, then the next key, then the next, letting the music envelop him. His fingers glide along the keys, the song almost playing him as much as he plays it. He feels his heart soar as the piece reaches its crescendo, his soul crying out for that perfect moment of resonance he knows is coming.

When it passes, his heart sinks. Music is a poor replacement for the memory of his once-meister, but as Soul knows, the show must go on. Though his hands have grown heavy, he sees the piece through to its conclusion. If nothing else, he can at least do that.

His fingers are still touching the keys when he hears the applause from behind him. The sound almost startles Soul off the piano stool, but he keeps his balance and turns towards its source.

Standing before him, with a soft, half-smile on her face, is Maka. Beside her is a bulky suitcase with a customs sticker stamped “FRANCE” slapped on its front. She wasn’t due back from Europe for another few weeks, last Soul heard.

“Maka,” he says, because his words have left him and he doesn’t know what else _to_ say. “You’re home?” If his brain wasn’t stumbling over itself right then, he might have slapped himself for stating the obvious.

“I’m home,” she nods. She looks him up and down before adding, “And this time I’m done running.”

It doesn’t take much thought to hold out his hand, to pull Maka in against his chest, to dance through the house with her - taking care to avoid stumbling into the couch this time. It doesn’t take much to whisper “I missed you”, to notice the pleased blush on Maka’s cheeks at his words. It doesn’t take much to hold her cheek in his hand, to glance down at her lips and whisper, “May I?”

It doesn’t take much to press his lips against Maka’s and kiss her like he should have almost five years ago.

And the way Maka melts into him - the softness of her lips against his, the warmth of her cheek beneath his fingers - feels like a kind of inevitability.

“You’re home,” he repeats, and this time it isn’t a question.

Maka smiles against his lips. “I’m home.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally written for the [Five Years Later SoulMaka Zine](https://soulmakazine2018.tumblr.com/). A big thank you to Livi for putting this beautiful SoMa tribute together, and for allowing me to take part.
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic and would like to see more, I have prompts open over on [tumblr](http://foxieafic.tumblr.com)!


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